


He Sleeps Alone

by quentinknockout



Series: Beneath The Cloak [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentinknockout/pseuds/quentinknockout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Castle Black, Stannis is cold in his bed. Davos is just next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Sleeps Alone

Stannis had known bitter wind for a long time, salty air that stung at your cheeks and watered your eyes into tears. But the cold of The Wall was something else entirely. It bit, chewed at your bones, unable to be withstood. Stannis never did need much sleep, but when he did, it was almost always alone, in a hard bed heaped with furs and knitted blankets. Almost always, that was how he liked it. But this chill was barely survivable, and was enough to want company.

The second night at Castle Black, his teeth were rattling his skull to life. After almost two hours of attempting to rest, he rose from the bed. 

Nobody had said anything about Stannis’s insistence that Ser Davos’s room be within reach. It seemed natural for the King to choose, to have his right hand man and hand within a stone’s throw. The onion knight’s quarters was two doors down from his own, easily found in the dark without aid of a torch.

And so Stannis went, quiet and barefoot in the dark, his own breath ghosting in the corridor before him. When he reached the door, he made no knock and simply silently slipped inside. In the corner of the room he could see the shape of the man in his bed, hunched over and asleep. Stannis did not murmur a word of greeting, but instead slipped into the bed beside Davos, with the practised ease of a lover who knew he was welcome. Stannis felt Davos stir gently.

‘Stannis?’ He whispered, his voice fogged with sleep. For Davos never called him ‘your grace’ when they were asleep together, or alone, or when it was darkness. ‘Yes.’ Stannis murmured, and nestled beneath the blanket. Davos’s hands immediately reached around to pull him closer, trying to share the heat he had already collected. His lips melted against Stannis’s neck, a sort of haft-hearted, exhausted greeting, clutching him to his own chest, protective and warm.

No one else welcomed Stannis that way, and no one else ever had. And that was how they fell asleep together, burrowed in close, intimate and warm.


End file.
